A Change in the Wind
by WonkasChocolate
Summary: "Her skirts feel heavy against her legs, soaked and captured by the tide, and she wants to let the waves carry her away. Carry her back to him." Second installment in my drabble series started with Requiem. J/E.


Title: A Change in the Wind  
Author: WonkasChocolate  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I bow to the mouse, no plunder taken  
Pairing: J/E

A/N: The second installment of my drabble series started with Requiem. Much thanks and a plate of fresh chewy chocolate chip cookies for djarum99 for her wonderful beta. All errors are my own.

**I **

She walks along the beach, toes digging into the sand. The surf washes over her feet and she looks up to see the sun sinking to kiss the ocean. Pausing, she waits breathless for the flash of green that she knows will not come.

As the water swallows the last ray of light on the horizon, she sighs. Her skirts feel heavy against her legs, soaked and captured by the tide, and she wants to let the waves carry her away. Carry her back to him.

But then she remembers a gold-toothed smirk and eyes that hold the world, all that she hungers for - freedom and mystery and passion.

She wonders if she can ever choose.

**II**

Casting a glance over her shoulder at the closed door, she listens for the maid's footsteps, or her father's. When she hears nothing she drops to her knees by the edge of her bed, reaching into the darkness underneath. Her fingers brush over the familiar wooden chest and she pulls it into her lap, blowing the dust off the lid.

The smell of dried rose petals drifts to her nose – her mother always loved roses. Sifting the petals through her fingers, she sees a silvery gleam reflected in the bottom of the chest, pulls it out and places it in her palm.

Her mother's wedding ring. When he found out that it was missing her father nearly cried. She's never told him that she's kept it; she doesn't think she ever will. It's for his own good anyway; he would only dwell on it, otherwise.

She rolls the ring between her fingers absentmindedly, remembering the stories her mother used to tell.

"Tell me about pirates, mother," she had said as she gently pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Have I ever told you about Captain Jack Sparrow?"

And, of course, she had. But Elizabeth would always shake her head anyway.

"Tell me."

Then her mother would weave fantastic tales about her favourite legend. About a man both fierce and beautiful, ships with black sails, cunning bargains, and sacking towns without ever firing a shot. The Jack Sparrow of legends and myths.

The real Jack Sparrow was both everything and nothing she expected. More than half of his legend is untrue, she is willing to wager; even still, he was more than she ever bargained for.

She finds herself wondering if she will ever see him again, thinks she may even like to see him again, and then shakes her head at the sheer audacity of such imaginings.

**III**

She can't say if she's happy, tells him she doesn't know what she is anymore, waits for him to say something. Anything.

He doesn't.

She tells him honestly that she doesn't know why she stays here, where Will left her three years ago. Three years.

"It feels like so much longer," she says, staring at the floor, and feeling Jack's gaze on her, but not wanting to meet it.

She finds she can't remember Will's smile, the way his voice sounds when he laughs. And it scares her. How much more will she lose over the next seven years? Her son is gone, too, and she thinks that too many things have been lost in such a short space of time.

She takes a deep breath, makes a decision.

"Take me with you." She lifts her gaze to meet his, raises her chin instinctively.

He watches her for a moment, then grins warmly.

"Thought you'd never ask, Lizzie, love."

**IV**

She has been in Port Royal for two whole days and is already sick of it. Her house is too big, all the walls whitewashed and dull, no roses in the garden. And it is hot, hot and muggy. She hates it here, she complains to her father.

He frowns, tries to tell her that she will grow used to things. "Things will be just like they were before, you'll see," he says.

She thinks he is lying. She's seen him cry over her mother and she knows that nothing will be the same anymore.

"I don't believe you."

"Elizabeth," he starts, his weary eyes pleading. She thinks he looks older than he ought to, more fragile. His hair is already beginning to gray. "If there is anything I can give you to make this easier for you, I will. I only want you to be happy, my love."

She stares at him for a long while, thinking that if only he could bring her mother back, then they could both be happy. But she doesn't say this. She hasn't spoken of her mother since she died. She tells him instead that she would like to see the ships.

"That," he says, "sounds like a good idea." Her father smiles at her, and she smiles back, intentionally _not_ seeing the worry in his eyes. He tucks the covers in around her and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Sleep now," he says quietly inching from the room.

Her eyelids suddenly feel heavy and she gazes sleepily at the shadow of her father's figure.

"I love you, Papa," she says, but he has already closed the door.

She falls asleep thinking about pirate ships and the Jolly Roger whipping about in the warm Jamaican air.

_Yo ho, Yo ho, a pirates life for me._


End file.
